A perfect murder is easy, a memorable one is fun!
by ThePinkMoonPlatoon
Summary: Moriarty-centric. Jim has always been good at the things he does, which just so happens to be murder, and he has style! Sebastian is just as brilliant, but he prefers the traditional shoot-them-in-the-head method. Jim/Seb in later chapters. Please review


**This chapter is Jim-centric. This chapter is set when Jim is about 20 something, so before Sherlock really. Later chapters will be set after the pool. This is kind of a... study of methods...**

_I am Jim Moriarty, aged 22_, _and I can commit the perfect murder._

"Killing is the easy part; it's hiding the body that's the real problem."

Jim Moriarty gulped down the last of his tea placed the cup carefully down onto the coffee table that was littered with other dishes. The man blinked at him and scoffed.

"And what makes you so sure?"

Jim's eyes twinkled, "Anyone can kill, but not everyone can _murder_."

The man laughed, a loud ostentatious cackle, "So you think you could? Fine, if you killed someone, where would you dispose of the body?"

"Ipswich"

He laughs, much the same as before, and Jim winces. He hates that fucking laugh.

"No really, what would you do, oh mighty murdering master?" the man says with a punch-worthy grin.

"I've always wondered about graveyards. No better place to hide a corpse than among other corpses."

"Touché, Jim" he fidgets for a little, sipping from his tea, before breaking the silence that had come in like a fog, "So, what got you on this topic, of all things?"

Jim remained pensive for a moment, before dipping his head, "Remember Leopold and Loeb? Convinced they could commit the perfect murder? Well, perfect murders are committed every day. There's nothing special about them. I could commit a perfect murder so easily."

"So how would you kill someone, in this perfect murder?"

"Something that won't leave blood or distinguishing marks that could be linked to a murder weapon if they _were_ found."

"So poisons then?" the man inquires.

"Yes, Something like Amanitin, Belladonna, Hemlock, other natural poisons, could be acquired anywhere. Drugs, maybe Tubarine, Codeine or similar; harder to get, but even more effective." Jim replied thoughtfully, fingering the handle of his china teacup, "PCP phencyclidine, I've heard that can be a blast, makes people do insane things, standing in front of trains thinking they can stop it. Or, literature's favourite, Strychnine... or even Clostridium botulinum! Oh yes! Virtually undetectable, the bacteria produces the botulinum toxin and is the most toxic protein known to man; one teaspoon can kill 1.2 billion people..."

He said this last part as though he was reading a text book.

"Interesting, you sounds like you know your stuff." Replied the man carefully.

The pair lapped into silence again, Jim thinking about other poisons and the man thinking about how Jim knew all these methods.

"So, who is the unlucky fellow you'd kill then?" the man restarted with a weary grin.

"I'm not sure what would be better," The man didn't acknowledge that Jim referred to a potential victim as a 'what' rather than a 'who', "someone you love or someone you don't even know."

"You'd contemplate killing someone you love to commit the perfect murder? That's sick!" he said, voice laced with unsure mirth.

"I wouldn't say sick. I might say liar, though, considering my target has already been chosen."

The man frowned, confused, "What do you mean? This is just hypothetical, you can't tell me you've actually thought about who you'd murder!"

Jim pointedly ignored him, "Everyone thinks you're in Devon. How's your tea? Stomach starting to hurt a bit?"

The fool's head snapped up, "Yes, what- what have you done to my- oh god."

Ignoring the now convulsing idiot, Jim checked his watch, "In about 10 minutes Doctor Who is on and I plan on watching it alone." Jim shoved his hands in his pockets and bent a little as he addressed the man once more, "I love strychnine. It's so beautifully agonising!"

The man, now unable to speak because of the sickening pain, shook violently in his chair, knocking over objects on the coffee table. Jim scowled at the desecration of his china, but made no other action against the man; that could be done after death if he wished.

"About 2 minutes to go. I worked out it would take 25 minutes for the poison to affect you, and I was bang on! Now, two minutes until the final stage for you; respiratory failure!" Jim sang, "Funny, isn't it? I always said your endless tea enthusiasm would be the death of you!"

The man couldn't breathe now; it had begun.

"Off you go! Just like little Carl Powers!" Jim laughed, "I got him, and I got you too! Best friends reunited in death. How fucking sweet!"

Needless to say, Jim was spot on. The man shook one final time, breathing impossible for him, and slowly but surely he lapsed into death.

Jim stepped over the corpse and turned on the TV. The disposal could wait until Doctor Who had finished.

**Thought of this while watching Dead Bodie****s! This will have Seb in, probably in the next chapter and it shall be slash... A bit... poison-y in this chapter, but I needed to get that artistic flair sort of thing for Jim, while Seb is just BAM you're dead. Please review!**


End file.
